


with

by nysscientia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nysscientia/pseuds/nysscientia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky says.  “Did you steal metahuman-grade restraints from SHIELD for sex?”</p><p>“It’s not theft if the property has clearly been abandoned,” Steve argues.  “And technically SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore.  So, no.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	with

**Author's Note:**

> Contains vague references to canonical trauma, and spoilers for Captain America: the Winter Soldier. Initially written for a prompt from [yunuen](http://yunuen.tumblr.com/).

He’s wrapping up an investigative excursion into an abandoned R&D facility with Tony and Bruce– he still thinks of it as an Avengers mission, even though ‘Avengers’ is probably a misnomer now; they’re not anything official anymore– when he discovers a storage unit full of leather-wrapped, reinforced cuffs and coils of high-tech metal-alloy rope. His first thought is of Bucky’s bionic arm.

When he went to Stark Expo for the first time, he thought the idea of a flying car was ridiculous. Sometimes the degree to which his perspective has changed gives him vertigo.

He brushes the sensation aside and calls Tony over. Tony’s the one he notifies on finds like this, because while Bruce has a lot to gain from studying them, too, Tony has the storage space and the equipment to repurpose more sinister things.

They wrap up the mission, get everything unloaded into one of Tony’s labs, and Steve– can’t let go of the mental images the cuffs inspire.

The thing is, since Bucky’s gotten his memories back– all of them, or something close– and started adapting to his existence in one time and space; since he and Steve accidentally became whatever they are now; since they’ve moved in together– Bucky is so willing.

In some ways.

Bucky always hangs up his wet towels, and he dutifully eats things in the fridge that are a few days from their expiration date, and he plugs Steve’s laptop back in so it’s always fully charged after he’s used it. Every time he leaves the apartment, he leaves a note or a text message detailing where he’s going and when he expects to return.

He waits stark naked in bed when Steve’s due back from a mission, ready and eager to take him apart so he can stop being Captain America or Commander Rogers or anyone but Steve; he ambushes Steve in the shower and presses kisses down his back, jerking him off slow and brutal; he gets on his knees in the middle of their little kitchen, putting his mouth anywhere and everywhere that will make Steve’s knees go liquid. Bucky is single-handedly responsible for four out of five dishes broken in their apartment, no matter what he claims. He lavishes attention on Steve every chance he gets.

But when Steve tries to go slow, to take his time, to learn Bucky’s body or watch Bucky’s face while he comes– somehow, those are always the moments Bucky surges forward, or kisses with teeth, or rakes his hands over that spot behind Steve’s ear. Somehow, things always end up hot and aggressive and desperate, quick and dirty and over too soon.

Steve stares at the cuffs for a minute. He takes a set, reconsiders, and grabs a spare.

-

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky says. “Did you steal metahuman-grade restraints from SHIELD for sex?”

“It’s not theft if the property has clearly been abandoned,” Steve argues. “And technically SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore. So, no.”

Then he sets his jaw the way he does when he’s preparing to debate something to hell and back– the same expression he gets before going into battle. Bucky thinks about how seriously the public must take that face, and he bursts into laughter.

Steve narrows his eyes for second, but then the corner of his mouth twitches. He starts laughing, too, a little sheepishly. Between peals, he huffs out, “do you not– want to–” and Bucky protests; of course he does.

Which is how he ends up naked, legs splayed, with his ankles tied to the bed frame and his wrists cuffed together behind his back.

Steve finishes locking up and stands, eyes roving over Bucky like he’s admiring his handiwork. Bucky doesn’t even pretend not to preen, and Steve rolls his eyes.

Bucky shifts, yanks at the restraints, testing their give. He has enough slack to move a bit, can comfortably fidget, but he’s not going anywhere. He’d have to do some major work with his metal arm to actually get free.

Part of himself panics at the thought, but that part of him has a lot of stupid instincts that he dogmatically ignores. The rest of him is damn excited.

“All right, Rogers,” he says.

Steve raises an eyebrow. Bucky sighs, using his best put-upon face.

“Now you,” he prompts, glancing down pointedly at his bare body.

Steve strips off his t-shirt. Bucky waits. Steve’s eyebrow lifts a little higher.

“Okay, so that’s the game,” Bucky says, looking at Steve’s jeans and still-buckled belt. “Now what? Do I struggle? Do I beg?”

“No,” Steve answers, looking a little surprised, like he hadn’t even considered that road. “No, just– relax.”

He climbs onto the bed and pulls Bucky down with him, lying at his side. Steve cradles Bucky’s face in his hands, presses his mouth to Bucky’s. It’s– it’s gorgeous; it always is, with Steve. They fall into a familiar rhythm, lips and tongue and a hint of teeth, sliding against each other. Maybe Steve is still half-dressed, but there’s still plenty of skin on skin and Bucky melts into it, the sheer luxury of Steve and pressure and heat.

And then Bucky sucks Steve’s lower lip between his own, slides his tongue along the roof of Steve’s mouth, and Steve lets out a shuddering breath, and things pick up speed. It’s– interesting, the way Steve reacts now, the way they’re unbalanced and finding a new equilibrium with Bucky almost completely immobilized.

Bucky finds himself wanting to see what else he can do, how he can drive Steve crazy without his hands. He presses upward, muscles in his stomach flexing; he traces the sensitive spot below Steve’s bottom lip, nipping and then biting. The sounds Steve makes suggest Bucky is more than on target– but Steve shifts away, dropping open-mouthed kisses below Bucky’s ear, down his neck.

It’s unfamiliar, exciting and a little infuriating, not being able to touch, to redirect. Steve moves to straddle Bucky, pushing him back down with the weight of his body. The friction of denim on his legs makes Bucky groan. He’s hard; of course he is. Bucky defies anyone to experience Steve Rogers’ tongue and not go out of their mind. Or he would, if he wasn’t so greedy; Bucky’s reformed but he’s never claimed to be _good_ , and he’s not above being selfish about Steve. Relentless, dogged Steve, who tilts Bucky’s head for better access to the crook between his neck and shoulder. Bucky’s eyes drift closed.

Steve kisses the thatch of scars where Bucky’s prosthetic arm joins with flesh, nuzzles against the seam. He rests his cheek there, just breathes for a moment, his exhalations warming the metal of Bucky’s shoulder, and that’s– new.

Just when Bucky starts to feel restless, impatient and itching– it’s probably only been a few seconds, but it feels like he’s waited hours for something, anything to change– Steve looks up at him.

“Okay?” he asks.

Bucky’s at a loss to answer that one. But it’s Steve, so he nods.

So Steve keeps going, lips trekking across Bucky’s skin, down and down, and Bucky feels– not naked, exactly. He’s still spread and exposed, same as before, but this feels different. He doesn’t register Steve as a threat, hasn’t for a long time, but there’s still a charge in the air– a gravity that’s making Bucky’s skin feel electric and oversensitive. Steve tongues gently at the groove between Bucky’s pecs, and something inside Bucky convulses. He opens his mouth to ask Steve to stop– Steve was very clear, before they started, that if he says the word everything will stop, no matter what– but then he looks down, and Steve has one of Bucky’s nipples between his teeth and his eyes are huge and blue and so earnest.

Bucky’s never been able to say no to that face– it’s the face that soldiers follow not just into war, but also out of prisons and HYDRA labs, into the unknown and unknowable; and it will forever baffle Bucky how Steve managed to get into so many fights when he was still a scrawny kid, because anyone who looks at that face and has any urge to swing a punch is clearly more than a little damaged, and– Bucky realizes he’s going down a road he really doesn’t need to– and then Steve says, “Buck?”

And Bucky says, “Yeah– please, Steve, yes.” Because he really, _really_ doesn’t want him to stop.

Steve smiles, then. He smiles, and no one should ever look that sunny and beautiful and goddamned perfect during sex; sex is for grunting and red faces and stupid expressions, not– that. Steve travels down Bucky’s chest, licks into his navel, kisses every single one of Bucky’s scars, and then he’s nuzzling into the crease where Bucky’s thigh meets his trunk and Bucky can’t believe he’s still tied up because he feels like he’s flying, bursting, shaking out of his skin.

After that he can’t tear his eyes away. He watches everything. Steve’s answering gaze disappears; he’s too focused on what his mouth and hands are doing, too keyed in to everything about Bucky’s body, responding to the way his thighs tense and abs flex. The gentlest of furrows appears between Steve’s brows, like he’s solving a puzzle, and that kind of concentration– that kind of attention, all on Bucky’s body– Bucky doesn’t want to think about it. Can’t. His brain shuts down; he can’t even fall back on his strategic programming, because this is a situation that can’t be processed or dealt with or survived–

But when Steve wraps his lips around Bucky’s cock, slides him almost all the way down his throat, he makes eye contact again, and–

Bucky realizes he’s begging, not even for anything specific, just “please” and “Steve” and “don’t” and “yes.” He’s incoherent, and if he feels moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes he’s so far beyond thought that it doesn’t even matter, doesn’t mean a thing. Steve slides up and down Bucky’s cock three times, four, hand working at his base and eyes never leaving Bucky’s, and Bucky would know that expression anywhere– no matter who had their fingers worming in his brain or what orders were branded into his nervous system. Bucky tries to reach up to touch Steve’s face, but he can’t– he’s still bound– and then he’s coming, and it doesn’t feel like an orgasm so much as a reckoning, his whole body tensing up impossibly tighter and tighter and smaller and smaller, collapsing in on itself until there’s nowhere to go but up, out, beyond.

He loses something, for awhile. Maybe consciousness.

When he comes back down, Steve is kissing him gently, chastely, between his thighs and up his stomach. Bucky’s ankles are already unbound; he doesn’t know when that happened. Steve climbs up the bed, eases off the remaining cuffs. He massages Bucky’s wrists. Bucky opens and closes his mouth once or twice. Steve lies down next to him, propped up on his elbow, not really touching Bucky except where his hip is brushing against Bucky’s thigh and hey, Steve still has jeans on.

Steve is still here.

“You with me?” Steve asks, and Bucky doesn’t answer right away. It seems like a really important question. He pauses, and runs through a now-familiar mental inventory; discovers he still knows where he is and who he is, still remembers that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. He’s starting to know what he wants, even.

Then Bucky realizes he can move, because he’s not tied up anymore, so he turns a little and curls up around Steve. Steve shifts his weight, lying down again. He pillows Bucky’s head on his bicep, and his hands card through Bucky’s hair.

Steve’s words hang in the air. Bucky can tell he still wants an answer, but he’s willing to wait.

It takes a Herculean amount of effort, but Bucky manages to swing his arm up and curve it around Steve’s ribs.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m with you.”

Steve presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, and Bucky doesn’t actually know, but he would bet that Steve’s smiling.


End file.
